


safely to arrive at home

by theundiagnosable



Series: torch this place we know [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, my self indulgent christmas present to myself, was not planning to come back to this verse but here we are i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 06:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable
Summary: Auston and Mitch and three cities





	safely to arrive at home

**_scottsdale_ **

Summer looks good on Mitch – he’s more solid, sturdier before the season burns through any extra weight he manages to keep on, and there’s a little spot of sunscreen on his nose, dorky enough to make Auston’s heart skip a beat.

It’s not his first time visiting Arizona, but it’s the first time that Auston wakes him up early to go hiking on his favourite trail. Or- second favourite, if he’s being honest, but it’s lined with a bunch of cacti, and Marns still thinks it’s hilarious that they’re real, so his reactions are enough to bump the trail into the top spot, at least for today.

The sun’s mostly risen once they get to the little outcropping of rock, and it’s not quite put together enough to be called a picnic, Auston doesn’t think. A picnic maybe sounds like something too cutesy for them, anyways; so it’s not that, but it is them sitting on the old blanket they used to use at Alex’s soccer games and sharing a thermos of coffee and taking turns trying to toss grapes into each other’s mouths.

Auston’s better at the grapes thing than Mitch, throwing and catching. He gets so many that his cheeks bulge out all chipmunk-like, and then a grape falls out of his mouth and Marns laughs so hard he falls over, clutching his stomach and rolling around like a kid.

“You’re so lame,” Mitch gasps out, “Oh, Matty, you’re so-” He starts laughing all over again, completely incomprehensible, can’t even muster up much of a defense when Auston starts pelting him with the leftover grapes.

“I’m the grapemaster,” Auston gloats, nonsensical. “Master of the grapes.”

“ _So_ lame,” Mitch repeats emphatically, and Auston nails him in the nose with three consecutive grapes before he relents and crawls over, lays his head right in Auston’s lap even though it’s too humid for touching to be particularly comfortable. He’s still smiling, still the best thing Auston’s seen since the last time he looked at him, and he doesn’t stop smiling when he meets Auston’s eyes.

“Hi,” Mitch says.

“Hi,” Auston says, peering down at him, somewhere between fond and dopey.

“Hi,” Mitch says again, but not like he’s expecting a response, Auston doesn’t think, so they just sit, both catching their breath. It’s dead silent at the little overhang where they stopped, any noise from the roadway long gone. The sun’s all the way up, by now, beating down on them, the few scrubs nearby offering the suggestion of shade and not much else.

Mitch is still looking up at Auston, not quite serious. “D’you miss it here?”

 Auston thinks about it, plays with Mitch’s hair, a little. “I miss my family,” he says, after a minute. “And... And the weather. And how quiet it gets.”

Mitch hums, thoughtful. “Must’ve been hard leaving, when you were younger.” 

Auston shrugs. He doesn’t remember much before he started doing tournaments out of state. “Hockey was always most important.”

Mitch raises an eyebrow, kind of grins. “Was, huh?” he asks. He’s teasing, this time, a little flirty. A little dumb. It takes Auston’s breath away.

That happens, sometimes. Not even for any good reason, usually, just-

He _has_ this.

It still feels like the biggest thing in the world, sometimes, like when his dad asked if he should set up the guest room for Mitch and Auston said no and felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest; or when Mitch came out of the gate at arrivals and hesitated, looked at everyone around them like he was waiting for Auston to tell him what was okay.

Except: Auston hugged Mitch big enough to lift him off his feet and no one in the airport gave them a second look, and his dad clapped him on the back and put a couple extra pillows in Auston’s room, and now they’re here in Auston’s hometown and they’re just boyfriends and they’re okay. They’re _good_.

“Yeah,” Auston says, and he’s smiling, small, without really meaning to. That’s happening a lot, recently. “Was.”

Marns returns his smile like it’s easy, then closes his eyes, and settles back in Auston’s lap with a contented sigh. “I like it here,” he says, decisive.

“Me too,” Auston says, and then neither of them says anything else, they just sit there pressed up to each other while Auston toys with the little cowlick in Marns’ hair. It’s the last chance they’re going to have to be like this for a while, barely three days here before the season officially starts, training camp behind them. Auston wonders if Mitch is going to fall asleep, here like this – they’ll have to move eventually, ‘cause Marns burns quick. He’ll be a brat about it for _ages_ , if he does.

Auston’ll wake him, soon. For now, though, he just lets himself be here, watches Mitch breathing slow and listens to the bugs, the occasional bird.

It’s something quiet and steady inside of Auston; and the sun is lighting up Mitch’s hair like a halo; and when Auston touches his thumb to Mitch’s lower lip, gentle, Mitch leans into his touch.

 

 

**_pittsburgh_ **

It’s too easy to get used to being in each other’s space again, when Auston flies down for bye week. Like. New, kind of, because Pittsburgh’s different from Toronto, but the main stuff – staying up late playing videogames, bickering over who’s going to walk the dog and ending up going together every time – that’s as familiar as breathing, even more than a year later.

It feels kind of grown up, now. Auston’s aware that that’s a little stupid, ‘cause it’s all the same shit they were doing before, but now it’s like. _Them_. A couple. Being functional adults, or whatever.

 “I don’t know what the fuck you expect me to do with an _eggplant_ ,” Mitch is rambling as they meander out of the produce section. “Like, genuinely, what actually is an eggplant? I bet you don’t even know.”

Mostly functional, maybe.

“A vegetable,” Auston hedges, because he does not, in fact, know what the fuck an eggplant really is. Mitch rolls his eyes, fond. 

It’s Auston’s own fault, dragging them to the grocery store, because the novelty of doing shit together hasn’t worn off yet, and Marns’ cooking abilities are nonexistent, and Auston’s got four days left to make him eat some actual food.

Mitch looks like he’s about to go on with the eggplant thing, so Auston holds out his phone. “Look,” he says, leaning over to show Marns the snap Willy just sent. It’s him kissing a dolphin on the nose, one of those lame, framed tourist pictures.

Mitch snorts, appreciative. “Dude, that’s so him,” he laughs, hopping up on the cart and gliding a few feet. “That barely even counts as a swimsuit, it’s so small.” 

“Poor dolphin,” Auston agrees, and then his phone buzzes with another picture, Willy and the rookies holding these fancy drinks. Buzzy’s got a fucking awful sunglasses tan.

 _Be a good example_ , Auston sends, because he feels like it’s the captainly thing to say. Will sends back a bunch of angel emojis, which is about as much reassurance as Auston could’ve expected, probably. 

When he looks up from his phone, they’re almost at the end of the aisle and Mitch is looking at him, something in his eyes that Auston can’t quite place.

“What?” Auston asks, bumping his hip to Marns’.

“You could be on a beach,” Mitch says, then, when Auston doesn’t respond. “You get one week, and you’re in a grocery store in Pittsburgh.”

“Well, yeah,” Auston says, and he knows Mitch’ll get the unspoken _duh_. Seeing Marns or going to the beach – it’s not a contest. Not even close. 

Auston grabs the front of the cart and drags them towards the shelf, ‘cause a grocery store maybe isn’t the place for a heartfelt conversation.

“We’re buying me bagels,” he says, tossing in the first bag of poppyseed ones he can find, mostly just so Mitch’ll complain.

“You better eat every fucking one of those,” Mitch says, right on schedule, but whatever question he had, Auston must’ve answered it, because he links his arm with Auston’s and stays that way as they make their way through the store.

\---

Auston wears his Marner jersey to the Pens game. First time he’s worn it out in public.

They interview him during the first intermission, which he was mostly expecting. It’s going to be a whole thing on the internet, probably, but he runs his fingers over the number 16 on his sleeve and gives the best non-answers he can, talks about how good Marns’ powerplay unit looked in the first.

It feels weird wearing anything but blue and white. Worth it, probably, for the look on Mitch’s face when he sees Auston after the game. His eyes, like, _light up_.

“Matty!” Mitch says as he walks out of the locker room and throttles Auston in a hug that almost knocks him over. He’s maybe half an inch taller than Auston with his skates and padding still on – an inch at most, _barely_ – but he’s peering down at Auston like he’s teeny.

“You’re so small,” he says, delighted with the novelty of it.

“I’m the same size I always am,” Auston laughs, but he can feel his cheeks a little red while Marns beams down at him. “You played good.”

“I always play good,” Mitch shrugs him off. “But hey, let me just say, you in my jersey? This is working for me to, like, a weird level-”

“You’re such a fucking jock,” Auston chirps, grinning, ‘cause Marns trying to be charming is actually the worst thing in the world, except for how he’s, like, embarrassingly into it. “Getting all excited by me in your stuff.”

“It’s objectively hot,” Mitch says, smug, and then he ruffles Auston’s hair the way the old guys always do to him, doing this big cheesy smile so Auston has to punch him in the arm to save face. Marns ignores it, grabs at the hem of Auston’s sleeve kind of absently. “Listen,” he says, all determined, “So the guys want to meet you. Or- see you, I guess. You’ve met a lot of them. But like.”

Not as Mitch’s boyfriend. “Yeah,” Auston says, pretty neutral. Not quite surprised. He doesn’t know what Mitch’s team knows about them, ‘cause Marns hasn’t sat down and told everyone, as such, but they know he’s bi, and they know what Auston said at the awards in summer; and it’s kind of an open thing, but it’s also been kind of a _them_ thing, just Auston and Mitch and their families and most of their team-

Auston catches himself. This is Mitch’s team, now.

He gets it. He’s seen the guys’ faces, the first time they bring their SOs to team events, all proud, like showing off, _look at my person_. It’s a big deal, and okay, he never really imagined Marns being like that with him, so it’s kind of weird, but- not bad weird. Nice weird, Auston thinks. 

Marns swings their arms a little, glances at Auston all hopeful. “I was thinking like- drinks, maybe? Something super lowkey. And some of them’d bring their wives, and I think Jakey’s brother is here.”

He really, really wants this.

Mitch seems to realize he’s rambling. “We don’t have to, obviously.”

“I’d like to,” Auston says. 

“Don’t do it just ‘cause I’m asking,” Mitch says, like him asking isn’t a good enough reason for something, and that kind of settles things, for Auston. “Matts?”

“Go shower,” Auston says. “I’m not going for drinks with you if you stink.”

“Rude,” Mitch retorts, but it’s kind of undercut by him tugging Auston into a hug, hanging off him like he’s not covered in a zillion pounds of sweaty hockey gear. He moves fast, but not fast enough that Auston can’t see the smile on his face, huge and excited.

\---

Auston’s just in the henley he had under his jersey, underdressed a little for the bar they’re at, especially with everyone else in their gameday suits, but no one seems to mind.

He’s not really sure how to act at first, if he’s here as a boyfriend or as a hockey player or what, but he finds himself settling in kind of without meaning to. It’s hard to stay tense, getting drinks with a bunch of dudes. He knows how to do this.

He wonders if Mitch realizes how much his team loves him. Auston didn’t expect anything different – obviously, they love him, because no one’s ever met Marns and not loved him – but they have that in common, and they have hockey in common, and that’s enough for Auston to get by, at least.

It takes nearly two hours for someone to actually come out and ask, when Auston’s got an arm around Mitch’s shoulders, only mostly paying attention to the conversation he’s having with Oketch and his wife.

Maatta kicks at Auston’s foot from across the booth, getting his attention. The guy’s a few drinks in, mostly clear-eyed. “Hey,” he says, then, without waiting, “Are you and Mitchy, like. Together?”

“We are, yeah,” Auston says, before he can really give himself a chance to think about it. It’s not some big romantic declaration, nothing close. His throat feels kind of dry anyways.

Maatta nods. “Cool,” he says.

“Cool,” Auston says, and that’s that, and maybe chugging half of his drink isn’t, like, the most convincingly chill thing he could do to follow up, but Mitch is laughing under his arm and he just told someone and didn’t even want to run and hide, and it feels like progress.

He’s getting the hang of the boyfriend thing, maybe.

\---

He wakes up on his last full day in Pittsburgh with Mitch clinging to him tight enough to almost hurt. It’s still dark outside.

Auston nudges at the top of Marns’ head with his nose, careful. “Hey,” 

“Hi,” Mitch says, muffled, and doesn’t move at all. His nose is pressed into Auston’s bare chest, his breath warm. Legs wrapped around Auston’s, too, all skin-on-skin, like a furnace.

Auston can’t decide whether to laugh or be worried, pokes at Mitch with the one hand he can mostly move. “You’re kind of strangling me, Mitchy.” 

“Sorry,” Mitch says. He barely loosens his grip.

Worried, then.

Auston peers down, trying to get a glimpse of Mitch’s face. “You okay?” 

Mitch shrugs, small. Doesn’t say anything else.

Auston presses a kiss to his hair, and for a while, neither speaks. Auston waits.

Mitch sighs. “I miss you,” he says, and doesn’t resist when Auston pulls out of his grasp, just enough to meet his eyes. “Or- I’m gonna miss you, when you’re gone.”

“Mitchy,” Auston says, helpless.

They’re good at not talking about it. It’s easier, that way, because if he thinks about how much of a rarity this week is he kind of wants to cry. It just. It _hurts_ , this nagging, sharp thing, not being able to see Mitch for weeks on end, like this actual, physical sense of absence, something part of him that’s not there and should be. 

The season looks unbearably long from here, months of phone calls and skype and texting stretching out in front of them. 

“I hate not being able to touch you,” Mitch admits, like he’s picking up where Auston’s train of thought left off, and Auston’s heart sort of aches for him, because Mitch doesn’t even mean it in a sex way, it’s literally just _touching_ , being close. It’s important for him, Auston knows, ‘cause he sees how Mitch is always in contact, how he hasn’t really let go of Auston since he arrived a week ago.

“I know,” Auston says. Marns’ eyes are sad, and it’s the worst thing in the world, or close to, so Auston does what he can, matches up his hand to Mitch’s, palm to palm. They’re not quite holding hands, just the suggestion of it. The tips of his fingers overlap with Marns’, just a little.

Mitch looks at their hands and exhales, a little shaky. Rubs at Auston’s knuckle with his thumb.

Auston loses track of how long they stay like that, just touching; when Mitch sighs again, it’s almost resigned.

“I’m keeping a bunch of your hoodies when you leave,” Mitch informs him, not quite light. “The blue one.”

“That’s fine,” Auston says. “I already put, like, half of your closet in my suitcase, so-”

He earns a laugh with that one, still smaller than he’d really like, but Mitch doesn’t look downright sad anymore, so he’ll take it. He laces his fingers with Mitch’s, squeezes his hand once.

“You and me,” Auston says.

“You and me,” Mitch agrees, and he goes, easy, when Auston uses his free hand to tilt Mitch’s chin up towards him and kiss him; brushes their noses together and kisses Auston again, harder, when he pulls back, tugging his hand free to drag it along Auston’s hipbone, holding onto his waist.

Auston kisses him one more time, gentle, before sitting up, rearranging them so he can prop himself up over Mitch. He reaches down under the covers to get one hand around him.

“Tell me what you need,” he requests, simple.

“This is good,” Mitch says, and he makes this noise when Auston starts moving his hand, slow; tucks his face up against Auston’s collarbone and lets Auston gauge what’s working based on the hitches in his breath.

And it is working, he thinks, or at least distracting Mitch, working up to something, only then there’s this snuffling sound at the door, then scratching as Fish decides to take offense to being locked out.

It’s so unexpected, so absurdly normal, that Auston can’t help but chuckle. Mitch does too, even if it comes out kind of exasperated.

“Dumb dog,” he says, and it’s the most himself he’s sounded all morning. Auston presses a kiss to Mitch’s shoulder, intent on finishing, but Mitch gets a hand on his chest and pushes him back, just enough to meet his eyes.

“You asked what I need,” Mitch says, quiet. His voice sounds tight, like this is hard for him. “I had a bunch of stuff planned, for your last day and all. But I kind of just want to stay here and make out?”

“We can do that,” Auston says, and ventures a smile. Mitch comes close enough to returning it, settles back against his pillow, and slowly relaxes under Auston’s hand. Auston doesn’t rush. They’ve got time, today.

 

 

**_toronto_ **

There’s a lot of snow this year, more than usual. It’s pretty, the whole city blanketed in white, sidewalks dotted with footprints as snowplows try to keep up.

Waiting at home makes time feel like it’s crawling – they had their last game yesterday, and the TV can’t hold Auston’s attention, and the kids at the hospital will be asleep, so a visit’s out – so, on a whim, Auston laces up his boots and pulls on his coat and trudges to the old church down the street.

They’re already halfway through the Christmas Eve mass when he arrives, the place crowded with mostly old people. Auston just stands at the back, listens to the songs.

He’s not really sure why he came. He hasn’t really gone to mass since he was little, Christmas or Easter or all the big holidays. He went to the Spanish mass with his mom, a couple of times.

Stuff’s different, now.

Better, he thinks.

The mass ends kind of underwhelmingly, and Auston stands there a few moments too long before joining the people filing out, wrapped up in their scarves and hats. No one asks him for a picture or anything. It’s nice.

He takes his time walking home, ‘cause mass killed forty minutes, max. He stops by the LCBO to pick up a bottle of wine to bring to dinner at Marns’ parents’ place tomorrow, the rosé Bonnie really likes, then a bottle of actual champagne for New Years this year, since they don’t have a game the next day. The bottles clink together in the bag on the way home.

It’s only his second time being away from Scottsdale for Christmas, this bittersweet thing. It hits him sometimes, how different things are, and how different they’re going to keep being.

He knows before he even gets through the doorway that Mitch is home. Partly because he almost trips over Mitch’s bags, scattered in the front hall. Partly because he’s barely got the door open before Mitch barrels into him, literally jumping up into Auston’s arms and hugging him.

Auston’s hardly even aware of putting down his stuff before he’s squeezing Mitch back, stumbling backwards just a little under his weight.

“When’d you get in?” he asks, and Mitch plants a kiss on his cheek, beaming.

“Like ten minutes ago. I told my uber driver you’d get him Leafs tickets if I got here before midnight.”

“Of course you did,” Auston says, too endeared to be convincingly annoyed. It’s hard to feel bittersweet about anything with the promise of three days together, Marns here in front of him, _finally_ , cheeks still all pink from the cold. 

Mitch has got his feet on the ground again, doesn’t waste any time before leaning up to kiss Auston, a month of pent-up _everything_. 

“I watched your highlights,” he says, while Auston kisses his nose, then his temple, takes in the smell of his shampoo, same as always. “From yesterday, you were so good, Matts.”

“ _I_ was good?” Auston laughs. “Dude, did you watch your last game?”

Mitch smiles, all proud, swaying a little into Auston’s space. “Did you see my assist on the winner? Right under his arm, how amazing was that?”

“Pretty amazing,” Auston says, straight faced. “I definitely got off to it.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mitch swats at his chest, then looks suspicious. “You’re lying, right?”

“Yeah,” Auston admits, and grabs Mitch’s hand, pulling it up so he can kiss his knuckles. “It was hot, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Auston says, and Mitch grins up at him, tongue peeking out, mischievous.

“What’s that you were saying about getting off?” 

“Such a dork,” Auston says, and he rolls his eyes, but leans down so Mitch can kiss him, lets himself get tugged towards their bedroom, leaving snowy bootprints on the floor.

And, see, _comfortable_ isn’t a word he’d have ever used to describe sex, at least not favourably, but he thinks he gets it, now. Like – it’s still new, the Mitch thing and the guy thing, but it’s also just familiar in a way he never really had before.

They know each other, the way Marns cracks jokes when he’s getting undressed, the way Auston comes apart if Mitch talks him through it; all of the dumb tattoos that Auston kind of regrets and Mitch won’t admit to regretting. He’s not trying to be anything, or performing. It’s just _good_ , easy in a way he didn’t think sex could be.

“Guess what?” Mitch asks, blinking up at Auston when he’s cleaning them up, after.

“What?” Auston asks, smiling without really knowing why.

“I love you,” Mitch says, simple, and it’s exactly ridiculously _Mitchy_ enough that Auston has to kiss him, and then they’re both distracted from the cleaning up part, for a while, and can’t bring himself to mind.

\---

They do eventually make it to the couch, cozy in hoodies and sweats and half-watching some Hallmark movie, squished up together under Auston’s favourite throw blanket.

He’s nodding along to what Mitch is saying, trying to keep track of the names of a million different Marners he’s going to be meeting at dinner tomorrow, so he doesn’t really realize that Mitch has stopped until it’s been quiet for a while.

 Auston flicks Mitch’s bicep. “What?”

Mitch looks at him, kind of wary, or as wary as it’s possible for him to be. “Don’t freak out if my mom drops hints about us getting married or something, ‘kay? I know it’s soon.”

Auston blinks. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

Mitch is making a face, a little flustered. “And you’re freaking out, sorry-”

“No,” Auston interrupts, when he can talk. Mitch’s mom thinks they’re going to get married. “No, I’m not- my family’s the exact same, Marns.”

Mitch looks at him like he thinks he might be bullshitting, playing absently with the tassels at the edge of the blanket. “For real?”

Auston nods. “Literally since before we were dating, yeah.” It’s not the kind of thing he’d have brought up, usually, just completely embarrassing and way too soon and so, so unchill, but- it’s Mitch. “My mom wants _grandkids_.”

“God,” Mitch laughs a little breathlessly, and now they’re both blushing bright red, giggling kind of nervously.

Mitch doesn’t look freaked out by the idea of being married to him, and that realization shouldn’t make Auston’s whole heart soar, but it _does_.

Auston’s never pictured anything even close to that, anything beyond hockey, really, and he still doesn’t, because they haven’t even been together for a year, and it’s too soon, right, and he _knows_ that. Except he also knows, sudden and sure, that he can picture a house outside the city, with a fence and a porch and a yard for Fishy. Maybe someday him and Marns teaching a tiny version of them to skate, a kid learning Spanish with his mom or jumping off the dock at the Marners’ cottage or getting passed around by two teams’ worth of overprotective uncles or-

Someday, maybe.

“I’m gonna ask you,” Mitch says, sudden, and when Auston looks over at him, Mitch is already looking back. “Not, like, now. Or at dinner. Just- someday. I’m gonna ask. Just so you know.”

Auston holds his gaze, doesn’t feel scared, doesn’t feel anything but this weird kind of calm. He’s too aware of his heartbeat. “I’ll say yes.”

Mitch breathes a laugh, but not like anything’s really funny. Auston gets it.

Mitch is nearly whispering when he asks, wide-eyed, “Did we just get future-engaged?”

Auston stares at him, whispers back, “I think so?”

“Holy fuck,” Mitch says, like he’s really truly stunned, and the look on his face is so much that Auston has to laugh, for real this time.

“You got a real way with words, Marns,” he chirps, and Mitch makes this noise, does probably the worst attempt at an offended face that Auston’s ever seen.

“Oh my god,” Mitch laughs, but his voice is all thick, and he has to reach up and swipe at his eyes, clumsy, before shoving at Auston half-heartedly. “Matty, dude, I-” He cuts himself off with this choked laugh, and he’s just looking at Auston, eyes shining, and Auston thinks maybe everything ever was to get him to right here, Mitch Marner looking at him like he’s something special, all-but-speechless. “I don’t even- Aus, Fish is going to be so _happy_.”

Auston can’t help but laugh at that. “She can be flower girl,” he promises, kind of giddy. “Flower dog.”

“Flower dog,” Mitchy echoes. He somehow manages to make it sound like a chirp, so Auston nudges at his stomach, and Mitch nudges him back, and then they’re rolling around, grappling like when they were dumb teenagers wrestling to see who’d get to be the Leafs when they played ‘chel; and they’re way too big and the couch is too small for this, and Auston can’t tell who’s winning, can’t tell if either of them is, even, ‘cause all he can think is Mitch pressed up to him, the two of them laughing so hard it’s hard to breathe, and this feeling of _home_ like something he’s known his whole life.

And, yeah.

They’ve got this.

**Author's Note:**

> \- i listened to sufjan stevens and this happened. if i ever try to publish anything else in this verse SOMEONE STOP ME  
> \- i hope you all have safe and wonderful holidays or safe and wonderful winters or just are safe and wonderful in general <3


End file.
